


The Difference Between Evolution and Adaptation [discont]

by banteroftherats



Category: Hermitcraft, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Evo AU, Gen, Watcher!Grian (somewhat), literally just writing and modifying eps and interactions, me desperately trying to rationalise minecraft mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banteroftherats/pseuds/banteroftherats
Summary: Grian leaves Evo behind to become a Watcher; until something goes wrong. He finds himself on an island, alone, with nobody else nearby.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey so if youre comin to this, core concept im just not all that into hc anymore and more importantly, i don't feel comfortable writing fanfic for it any longer. i'm leaving this here for the sake of archive in case anyoned like it but i dont think im finishing it, ever. writing the final chapters been prodding at my mind for a while though i just cant bring myself to do it so....yeah. feels better to just close it nd confirm, ig. just a heads up. 
> 
> ========
> 
> aight i haven’t written anything decent in my entire lifespan and i haven’t written anything at all in like 6 months so if this is shit then, uh, fuck
> 
> this fic is very much an experiment on developing general hermitcraft lore, and an exercise for my writing. i’m honestly just letting myself have fun and get carried away with this bastard and hopefully you’ll get something out of this as well!
> 
> this fella also doesn’t really follow a set plan, although i do have a very vague outline for it.
> 
> again this fic is gonna be somewhat headcanon-heavy but considering it’s through grian’s pov i’ll explaining those things and hey, the comment section’s wide open
> 
> anyway that’s enough of me rambling, hope y’all enjoy sjdbdjbd

Something felt off.

Grian opened his eyes. Everything was quiet, and as far as he was aware, he was the only person around. He looked up at the sky, a pale morning blue. White, blinding sunlight burned his eyes, and he instinctively squinted. Anxiety made his chest pound and his breathing was coming in short, exhausted gasps.

He wasn’t home anymore.

He held out a shaky outstretched palm, just to make sure what he was seeing wasn’t a dream or some sort of illusion. His hand obstructed the sun’s light, and he felt definite heat that was far too real. He forced himself to calm down and relax, although any logical thought he had, he shoved aside in favour in blind panic.

_You won’t be able to go back. Get up._ A voice in his head said. He wanted to argue; he wanted to shout; he wanted to _scream_ , but when he opened his mouth, only a throaty croak came out. He swallowed and made himself sit up. The tension that his muscles held evaporated, replaced only by fatigue. The urge to lie down and sleep until this turned out to be a bad dream chipped away at his brain, but he forced himself to stay awake.

_Look around,_ the voice repeated, devoid of emotion. Despite, or perhaps in spite of the lack of any tone, it made Grian feel uneasy. He followed its instructions and turned his head around, trying to comprehend his surroundings.

He was near the shoreline of what appeared to be a large ocean. Its salty smell was strong and putrid, and Grian swallowed again, slightly nauseous. He turned his attention away and looked the other direction, into a grassy forest atop some hills. He noted the thick woods, which held an abundance of oaks. There seemed to be more land ahead of it, but Grian knew he wouldn’t go too far from where he was any time soon.

Grian closed his eyes for a moment, immediately aware of the singeing heat and how much of a nuisance the sun would be. He let himself think that was his biggest worry for a second, and silently wished it truly was.

Instead, his most pressing problem was that he had left the other Evolutionists.

He didn’t even remember how. All he remembered was falling into the End with the others, but things got foggy whenever he tried to think about what happened next. He vaguely recalled himself fighting the Enderdragon, but couldn’t figure out anything else.

Grian took in a deep sigh.

_There’s nothing you can do about it,_ he told himself, in an absurd form of comfort. _You’re here now._

_And you’ll never go back,_ the voice replied in agreement. _Move._

Grian squinted in uncertainty, but heaved himself up after realising that sitting around doing nothing wasn’t the best course of action.

He patted the dust off his pants and shook off his red jacket, which fell onto the grass behind him. He forced himself towards the shore of the ocean, hoping the water would cool him down and motivate him to work on a safe base for the night.

Grian cupped a handful of water in his palms and closed his eyes as he let it run down his face. It wasn’t as cool as he hoped it would be, but he felt the aching pain in his jaw ease a little. He took one last glance at the water and jumped back with a start.

Small dots started to connect, and he slowly began to remember.

He was meant to join the Watchers.

_Finally, you caught on_. The voice had returned. Grian sat in horrified silence, still staring at his reflection in the water. Something was wrong - horribly wrong. A cluster of eyes rested on his neck, like a colony of ants, and in terrifying sync, their pupils turned to look back at Grian. He looked away instantly, drawing in a sharp breath. He marched back to where he had rested originally, and put on his jacket again, zipping it up to his neck. He was willing to put up with the blazing hot weather if he didn’t have to pay attention or see anything regarding the Watchers.

_I don’t have time for this._

The voice laughed in its empty, vacant tone. Then, it said, _what other thing could occupy your time? Time isn’t the problem. You have all the time in the world._

Grian shook his head and broke into a sprint towards the clump of trees by the hills. He wanted nothing to do with the voice. He wanted it to disappear.

_It won’t be that easy to get rid of us._

He hurled his fist at the trunk of an oak, frustration and anger fuelling him. As he heard the blood roar in his ears and his heart pound, he realised that the voice had gone silent, at least for now.

_Cowards_. He thought.

Just as the voice had vanished, Grian heard a loud noise, somewhat reminiscent of a firework, emerge from the opposite direction. Tensing, he turned to face it. Suddenly the silence of the voice seemed much more sinister. Had it gone to plan something? Grian felt uneasy, although another, slightly more unlikely prospect took his mind off the concern. He blinked thoughtfully. _Maybe it was afraid._

In what used to be a normal, empty clearing, stood a nether portal. It had just sparked open; a large, shimmering sheet of purple that swirled and hissed. Grian foolishly hoped it was the other Evolutionists, but he quickly put that idea aside along with a pang of grief. He forced his attention back to the portal, which made the familiar, deep sinking noise portals made when someone was coming through.

Whoever was about to come out, Grian truly didn’t know.


	2. Chapter 2

“There’s someone out here.”

Grian froze, and abruptly, the concept of those strangers being dangerous entered his mind. His mind told him to run, but he remained as still as a statue, and stared blankly ahead. All he could do was wait.

A chorus of “wha-?” and “anyone we know?” and “are you sure it isn’t just a skeleton?” followed, and suddenly, the portal released an ear-splitting shriek. And from it, emerged what Grian guessed was around 20 people, pushing each other out, all while yelling and shouting.

The only person to not be a casualty was a taller man with a compact build. He had a large leather hat that covered his unkempt brown hair, and his entire getup reminded Grian of a cowboy. He shook his head and looked at Grian with a wary stare.

“He’s still here,” he called back to the others.

“What a miracle,” a harsher voice replied. “Thought he’d run off. I sure would’ve.” Grian hadn’t gotten a look at who said that.

The man laughed, but quickly straightened his face and held out a hand to Grian.

“Uh, sorry about that,” he apologised with a chuckle, “We really didn’t mean to scare you.”

Behind him stood a tall, lean woman, and a fleeting sense of fear overtook his body once more as he realised it was a zombie. “Yeah, we did, actually,” she interrupted.

Upon seeing Grian’s horrified expression, her dusty green eyes widened, and she muttered, “Ah, right.”

“Cleo means no harm,” he clarified in a steady voice. “I’m Scar.”

“Grian,” he replied, looking at the ground.

“I take it you’re from here?”

He took in a deep breath, pausing for a while, before finally saying, “I just arrived.”

“We did as well,” Scar bit his lip. “It would’ve been a lot of help if you knew more about this place but…eh. We’ll be fine.”

“We’re sorry, Grian,” the voice he had heard before spoke. He turned his head to see what he could only assume to be some sort of robot, mechanical body entirely coloured in yellows and pinks. “We’ll head back and stop bothering you.” Grian heard Cleo chortle next to him.

“It’s fine,” he stammered, raising his hands defensively, but something cut him off once more.

“Alright, gather up!” 

Everyone turned to look back at the portal which was now only a frame of obsidian. In front of it stood a man in green armour, who held a certain air of officiality. He wore a grey helmet that obstructed his entire face except for his eyes, which were barely visible through the purple visor. He stared at Grian for a second, expressionless, before looking away again.

“We’re going to split up, aight?” he called out, “Get into groups of three and spread out. We may have to spend the night here if we don’t start moving. Get whatever you can and pass things round.” He then surveyed the crowd which had already sorted into their respective cliques. Most had already started to run towards the trees, although some stood back and were partaking in pleasantries. 

A man in a bright blue shirt padded towards the shore and looked outward, shielding his eyes with his hand. The sun still burned high above the sea, but it wouldn’t be long before night came. He muttered something to himself and raised his glasses before strolling back to the main area and regrouping with Cleo and some sort of red creeper, which he couldn’t help but shudder at.

With a sudden pang of embarrassment, Grian realised he didn’t really have anyone to be with. Was he even welcome to join in and help or would he watch these people desert him as soon as the sun set? He sighed in dismay. Probably the latter. 

“Hi.” He blinked in surprise and turned around to face the man who had commanded the others.

“Hey,” he replied awkwardly. “Uh, what’s up?”

“I was, um, wondering if you needed any help with anything? We’re terribly sorry for bothering you, we’re just coming through.”

“Oh, it’s no issue,” Grian put in, looking away. “I’m not from here either.”

The man huffed thoughtfully, and glanced back at the portal frame, where a few people remained. Grian recalled the pink robot man, who was already toying with an iron sword and conversing with an armour-clad elf, and another figure he couldn’t quite see properly. On the opposite side of the field stood two people, which were talking loudly about ice. Suddenly he shivered and subconsciously straightened out his jacket. 

The silence between the two was so long that as soon as he talked again, Grian was caught off guard. “You can come with us, if you want...unless you have your own place to go back to, I suppose.”

“I- I really don’t.” he sighed, rubbing his shoulder. He peered back up at the stranger who nonchalantly muttered, “Xisuma. I can pass you to the others and they could probably explain things for you.”

Tilting his head, Grian couldn’t help but let himself smile. “Thanks a bunch,” he started. “Really, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Uh, sure,” Xisuma crossed his arms. “Joe probably wouldn’t mind sorting you out. He should be near the edge of the river, right there?”

Grian nodded, excitement and relief making his blood boil. 

“Thank you.” he said one last time, before breaking into a sprint. 

Things would improve; he was sure they would.


	3. Chapter 3

It was getting late. The sky was a black the colour of coal, enveloping a bright, sunburnt red. Pale, fog-like clouds ran past, shapeless and transparent. Gentle ocean waves moved back and forth, reflecting the scarlet and the black on its rippling surface. The air was cool, and a gentle wind breezed past every once in a while. Salt still reeked in the air, mingling with the smell of long-gone fire.

Grian looked back, eyes half-closed in exhaustion. He concealed a yawn under his hand and pushed himself forward to the shore, sending sand flying into the air. Boats were already being set up by the others. The earlier chatter was nonexistent - small whispers and groans came from the crowd, but clearly the sea and the wind took centre stage. A few of them looked up and met his gaze warily, and he quickly looked away.

“Everyone ready?” Xisuma called out, voice dripping with fatigue. Grian tiredly murmured something in vague agreement back. It seemed as if everyone was equally drained, which wasn’t exactly the best, considering the upcoming journey to the supposed centre island. “Uh, try to ride together. We don’t want to lose anyone on the way.”

Grian squinted. He thought back to Joe Hills, who he had talked to earlier - and who had entirely refused to elaborate on _‘the lost ones’_. Not that he blamed him for it; Joe himself seemed a pleasant person to talk to. Temptation to go back and ask again raced through his mind, but as he looked to his left, he saw Joe sit down behind Cleo in an oak boat. He bit his tongue, tartly reminded of how much of an outsider he was.

Before he could even pull out a crafting bench, he sensed a cold hand tap his shoulder. He glanced behind him, a sudden uneasiness overtaking him as he glimpsed magenta. He assumed this was Biffa - Joe had mentioned him.

“Grian, right?” Biffa asked, unmoving.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Mind coming with me?”

Grian looked back at everyone else, most of which had gotten into pairs. A few had even sailed out - he recognised Tango’s silhouette, hard against the sun, leaning against the edge of the boat. In the front seat, another person rowed. Iskall was kicking a boat off into the water as Stress watched, head cocked to the side in mock contempt. Even Joe and Cleo drifted away from the shore, giggling to themselves about something Grian couldn’t catch.

“...alright.”

He felt Biffa grip his arm, and the coldness and strength of it unsettled him once more. He was led back to where most of the boats sat and let his pace fall a little. As he watched Biffa walk, he noticed an odd limp whenever he moved forward. Grian assessed the coldness of his hand, trying to remember what Joe had said about him. Biffa’s grip loosened a little, and he fully let go a second later.

_He was the one who lost a bunch of limbs,_ he suddenly recalled. _Ah._

The robot had situated himself onto the front seat and looked back at Grian with a vaguely friendly (or what he chose to interpret it as) expression. As Grian scampered into the boat, he heard a sudden whirring noise and guessed it was something to do with Biffa.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said blankly, honey-coloured visor falling over his eyes. “I’ll take care of things.”

Grian opened his mouth, but closed it again. He felt guilty about doing nothing, but he felt far too drained to insist on helping. _Drained_ seemed accurate, as a second later, his eyes fell shut.

“So…” started Biffa after a long pause, “Where are you from?”

He quietly thought about faking being asleep to dodge questions, but he mumbled out, “Far from here.”

Biffa huffed, but he said nothing else. Grian once more heard a strange noise, this time like some strange static.

“Has there been anyone around?” Biffa suddenly asked again. Quickly, he added, “As in, someone you hadn’t seen around before? Someone unusual?”

Opening his eyes, Grian glanced up at Biffa, who had paused rowing. He faced Grian, his body completely frozen in place. His eyes were studying him, made more eerie by the semi-opaque visor that cast a strange shadow over his face. Grian pulled up the collar of his jacket.

“I...I don’t think so. Um, I wasn’t here very long either. I just arrived when you all came in as well.”

Biffa’s shoulders sunk, and Grian couldn’t help but wonder if this had anything to do with whatever Joe had refused to tell him.

With an edge to his voice, Grian said, “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just curious.”

Grian inhaled sharply, skepticism lacing his voice, “Anything to do with some _lost ones_?”

“Hmm,” Biffa turned his head towards Grian, and he unsettlingly realised it was the only smooth movement he had seen the man make. “Not sure how you know about that but, yes, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“So what are they?” Grian pressed.

“People we haven’t found,” he replied, “People who disappeared and hadn’t left a trace.”

A faint voice inside Grian echoed a simple word; _Taurtis_.

He blinked a few times, shocked by where that came from. Head falling into his hands, he took a deep breath and forced himself to forget anything to do with _him_. Hands curled into a fist, he turned back towards Biffa, who somehow hadn’t noticed his sudden movements.

“Have you found any of them?” he asked warily, a thin flake of hope in his chest.

“Few. I was one of them for a while - you should’ve _seen_ the look on everyone’s faces when I respawned again. Honestly,” he laughed loudly, taking Grian by surprise. “But yeah. Not many have been found. Yet.”

Temptation to ask about why Biffa had gone charged through Grian, but he forced himself to simply nod. “I mean, people occasionally take a while to respawn. Maybe it’s just that.”

Biffa remained silent, lips pursed, until he replied in the quietest tone Grian had ever heard, “Not respawning for nearly seven years has got to be some sort of achievement.”

Grian ashamedly looked away.

“I honestly just think they’ve come back, only in the wrong place,” Biffa put in, and added, “Ah, yeah, we lived in a few other areas. They’re pretty far away. We haven’t managed to find a way to get back to our first few though. I think they’re just there..”

He paused for a second, head turning to survey the waters. It was dark now, the sky now a smoky soot colour. Few stars glittered, in formations that Grian couldn’t bother to document or keep in mind.

_Maybe I should_ , he thought, as they would be an easy indicator of direction in case he got lost. But both his tired state and his newfound faith of these people prevented him from doing so. _I could just stay on the main island, and I’ll probably run into someone. The way they speak about it, it doesn’t seem too large._

“I was one of the early ones,” Biffa started, voice much quieter than before, “I was there for our first world. There weren’t many of us to begin with; round eight, I think? Anyway, one day the world...went off. The edges of it were breaking and going absolutely insane. It eventually reached us and most of us got out it just fine. But we were missing a few and a while after things got weird for everyone else. Later those fellows disappeared as well.”

He coughed, then continued, “So, that’s where we are now. With the only people left from those eight being Xisuma and I.”

Biffa’s body somehow took even more rigidity, and Grian had the feeling that the silence would be much longer this time. He couldn’t think of anything to say, but a certain horror and distant longing made his hands shake. Or perhaps it was just the bitterness of the night. He shoved his hands into his pockets regardless of the reason.

Was he insane for thinking about Taurtis? He knew full well that he had left on his own accord. But suspicion made his bones ache and made his chest heavy.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the reason for Biffa and Xisuma’s first world being torn apart like that was because of the Watchers. There was little to support his idea, but a fire sparked in his chest. Was he just looking for things to blame the Watchers on? It was stupid to think about, and he could hardly take himself seriously. The dots disappeared before he could even attempt to connect them.

Maybe he was just too tired to think about these things. Maybe he should just forget everything that had happened prior to today.

Sinking further into the boat, yet careful not to lean too hard to the edge, Grian closed his eyes. Soon he’d be able to build a residence, with everyone else close by, and he wouldn’t have to think about the Watchers, or lost ones, or anything of the sort.

* * *

Grian felt cold fingers tap his shoulder again, and he rose from his seat in the boat with a yawn. An ache had taken refuge in his left arm and his back, and he started to regret his uncomfortable sleeping position. He gazed back at Biffa, who was already standing on land and who seemed to have already started setting up. He held an iron sword, wedging it into the ground as he padded forwards and extended a hand to Grian.

“Thanks,” he muttered, heaving himself up. The boat rocked a little as he darted over to the shore, but steadied itself.

The sky was now a pale rusty orange, the sun steadily rising over the ocean. Crisp wind batted his hair back and forth, but otherwise it was warm. He turned around, taking note of the large mountains around him. He guessed this is where Biffa would be settling.

“You can chill here for a bit, I guess.”

Grian nodded, unable to say much else. He padded along, admiring the island without much of an aim. He sat down, grass soft and pleasant. _Though anything’s better than the boat_ , he reflected. He allowed himself to relax, realising that this was his first moment of peace in the past few hours. He let himself feel the warmth of the sun on his face, he let the grass scratch his arms and legs and he let himself breathe in.

It was all fine.

He inhaled one last time, the faint smell of the sea still there and the fragrance of flowers strong in the air. It was time to go.

As he lifted himself up, he felt Biffa’s hand lock against his wrist. Blinking rapidly, Grian turned to meet his gaze.

“Something’s off,” he said, blue eyes burning into his. “As soon as you arrived, I’ve had this weird feeling…”

The iron sword glittered in the sunlight, clean white blade shimmering menacingly. Biffa leaned back, gripping the hilt with his other hand, all while refusing to break eye contact.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Fact you’ve said nothing about where you've come from?” he drew in a heavy breath, “Nothing about those eyes?”

Grian’s mouth was as dry as a bone - how had he known?

_They’re not that well hidden,_ the voice said, clear as day in his mind.

He wanted to yell; at the Watchers, at Biffa, it didn’t matter who. But he stood there, frozen in place, unable to defend himself. He wasn’t trying to do anything wrong - but he knew deep down that there was nothing he could say to deflect Biffa’s accusations.

“Xisuma seems to trust you. And I trust him. More than anything.”

His grip relaxed for a second, and Grian thought for a second that he’d be able to leave. He didn’t even dare to breathe, and it seemed like centuries until Biffa stirred. Once again reminded of how uncomfortably stiff and rigid his stance was, he forced himself to match it out of fear.

“Though I’m afraid I can’t take the risk.”

He lunged forward, metal arm making an ugly banging noise as he did so. Grian collapsed, barely catching himself by falling on his knees. It like being punched in the stomach, although if it was amplified tenfold. A slight tingling sensation took its place, somewhat like the feeling one would experience when touching redstone.

He swallowed, eyes widening as he poked around his sides, determining the wound, faultily inflicted on his left side. And then burning heat came in, as hot as the nether, if not more. He looked up in desperation, and saw Biffa recoil a little, his face blanched.

“Just...stick with Xisuma. Stay near here. Don’t get involved with anyone else. Please.”

The burning sensation had spread out through his entire body, although now it took the form of piercing cold. He weakly tilted his head down, unable to say anything. And suddenly, his body exploded into nothing but white smoke that evaporated into the air.

Biffa sighed, pulling up the sword from the grass. Now stained with a faint glowing green, the weapon was heavy in his hands.

He looked at it for a second. And then he kicked it back onto the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo sorry for how long it’s taken to update this again, i’m not in the best place rn but i decided to just go ahead and finish it off today so. i just wanna thank everyone who’s left kudos and comments cause it’s legit so encouraging considering the fact writing is something i’m extremely self conscious abt haha. again thank you all, hopefully not all of yall have lost interest in this yet

One thing Grian noticed was that the water around this island wasn’t the same. The current was rougher, like the snapped end of a twig. It felt warmer, almost abnormally so. It was more colourful than he had ever seen any water in his old world, with all the fish and the corals and the plants, which were all entirely new to him. All he had gotten in Evo was dark water placed in such a way that it seemed intentional, as if all the rivers and seas were man-made. He wanted to pretend it only looked that way, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Regardless of how it was before, Grian was aware of how strange and different it was - that’s why he had built so close to the sea in the first place. And that’s why his interest piqued at the chance to visit a place entirely built underwater.

* * *

 “Got any eggs with you?” Mumbo called out warily from the shore, an exasperated smile on his face. “I’ve already got enough from the chickens I still have. Spare me just this once.”

Grian grinned, responding with, “Sorry to disappoint but no. Just coming over to ask you something.”

He let out a dramatic sigh. Grian wasn’t sure if the relief was genuine or not.

Clumsily tumbling out of the boat, he straightened out his sweater and turned to face his friend. “I won’t be here long, I promise.”

Mumbo shook his shoulders nonchalantly, signalling him to continue.

“So, uh, I’ve been looking around the ocean and I’ve been curious about some things,” he bit his tongue, and then continued, “I was wondering if you knew anything about that Iskall dude?”

At once Mumbo’s strained expression cleared, and he let out a laugh. “Of course. We go pretty far back, actually. What do you need him for?”

“So, he lives in that ice place, right? With all the icebergs and water and all that?”

“Mhm.”

“And he’s been building underwater?”

“I think so.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to reach out to him and just ask to look around his base for a bit. Would he be, uh, up for that?”

“Yeah, Iskall’s a nice guy. He wouldn’t mind.”

Grian beamed, hands unfurling. He stood around for a second, foot kneading through dirt and sand, looking around before going, “I’ll meet up with him tomorrow, then. Thanks!”

He took one last glance at the island, lingering on it for a bit. Mumbo’s makeshift treehouse was still and unchanged, and its leaves lazily dangled back and forth in the wind. He waved at Mumbo and then gripped the oars, looking back at the other side of the sea.

The foundations of his own base stood in the distance, and he was again reminded of how big his vision for it was, and how long it would take him to finish it. Nevertheless determination and excitement coursed through him like an electric pulse and made the journey back to his base slightly quicker. He stepped out, the boat rocking behind him as he did so, and sighed.

* * *

The sun peeked over the edge of the ocean, its other half reflected in the water. Pale light erupted from it, although heat seemed to be scarce this morning. The water was still, more still than it had ever been, it’s quivering motions barely able to be seen or heard. Grian hoped the entire day would be as calm as it - he couldn’t help but think back on his first day with the hermits. He shook off the feeling of uneasiness with a tremor, already seeing Iskall rowing close to him.

As he moved closer and closer, Grian was able to piece together more and more about his appearance. Probably the most notable thing about him was his eyes, or rather the fact that he didn’t have one of them. In its place was something akin to a diamond atop a gray metal cover. A scar stretched past his lips, and Grian squinted as he noticed its strange green tinge.

“Hello. Grian?” he asked, “Grain? Grian, right?”

“Grian,” he confirmed, lips pursed, “Mumbo’s told me quite a bit about you.”

“Hm,” Iskall simply replied, his smile growing slightly wider. “I mean, I wouldn’t trust that spoon with an accurate description of anyone. Ever. But alright, alright. What did he say about me?”

In response, Grian huffed, rolling his eyes. At least he wasn’t dead yet.

“That you’re a nice guy. He also said you two have been friends for a while.”

Iskall laughed, “A while! We’ve known each other for forever. Seriously…”

Grian got in behind him, this time making sure he was wide awake. He held a steady position, hands enclosed around the edge of the boat. A light fog had set in and his hands felt frozen, and he was made acutely aware of the fact that he had severely unprepared for a cold ice biome. And perhaps it was stupid to think that this would be a silent journey, but something else he was absolutely not ready for was how talkative Iskall was.

“So...how’s building going for you? Are you doing alright?”

“Yeah, progress is going well enough. I’ve got...a lot to work on, but I’ll get there.”

“Good, good!” Iskall shuffled in place a bit, sinking into a more comfortable position. “I hope you’re feeling welcome here, dude. I never really felt weird with the hermits, even for the first few days, but I didn’t come alone like you so...different situations, huh?”

Peeking up, Grian said, “How’d you join, actually?”

Iskall sighed dramatically, his head falling back. “ _Hmmmm_. Let me think. It was a very long time ago, actually. I came in with a lot of other people, so...never really had any problems with feeling left out.”

“So, uh, you didn’t get killed on the first day like I did?”

Iskall roared with laughter, causing Grian to flinch in surprise. “Yeah, I died. Stupid cause. It was an enderman super far away. I don’t know how he even saw me!” he took in a shuddering breath, and went on, “What even got you, dude?”

“Who,” Grian corrected, “And Biffa.”

“Ah,” Iskall said with a sudden sharpness in his voice. “Yeah. I’ve heard some weird things about him. He went on a rampage for everyone’s heads, apparently. Glad I wasn’t there for that.”

The boat stopped for a second, and Iskall grunted as he pushed the oars again and sent a thin layer of ice cracking around them.

“We talked a few times. He also killed me a few times.”

Grian squinted, unsure what to think.

“Anyway, we’re getting pretty close, dude. The ice around here _sucks_ to go through. I swear, it freezes back every time I go in and out of here.” Iskall tsked as the ice made a sharp noise, splitting apart. Grian steadied himself, grip on the boat’s edge tightening.

With one last shriek from the ice, the boat abruptly stopped and Iskall paused to stretch his hands. He turned to face Grian, and with a tired look on his face, he said, “We’re here.”

Pale blue spikes stretched out into the violet sky like crystals, breaking the pattern of the clouds, light grey and barely visible. The floor of the main glacier was a nearly-glowing orchid colour, and when Grian stepped on it, he nearly fell over. Chests were spread out and anchored into the ground with iron hooks and spikes, some still open. Patches of dirt with dull, nearly grey grass erupted between cracked ice, small saplings curling together from deeper inside. By the dry looking colour of the wood, he guessed it was spruce. Fog disintegrated into the air every time he took a breath, and despite barely arriving, numbing cold already made his hands and legs quiver. Everything had a strange sort of dampness to it, whether it just looked that way or felt like it. It was weird, to say the least.

“You alright bro?” Iskall heaved himself out of the boat, sighing as he did so. He slid over to Grian, who still stared dumbfounded at the spikes.

 “You’re living here?”

 “Yeah dude.” Iskall crossed his arms, a smile stretching out across his face. “Pretty cool, huh?”

 “In multiple ways,” Grian replied, still wide-eyed.

For a few moments he continued to stare, wildly swivelling his head around to take in everything. Iskall let him admire the land, before putting in, “So. Ready to go underwater?”

Grian took one last look at the glaciers and nodded.

Getting underwater was easy enough; Iskall had helped Grian get in fairly fast (by kicking him in while he was standing at the edge of the water). He closed his eyes, pushing himself through the cold water. It was so much colder than he could’ve expected, although he was perhaps just used to the warmth around his base. He manoeuvred himself until he felt a strange force push down on him and lift him again, as if he was being compressed for a second. Opening his eyes, he noticed the water surrounding him was now a pale teal colour.

Behind him was Iskall, who took a steady pace and raised his head downwards, signalling to move lower. When Grian glanced down, he couldn’t help but gasp. A large crevice went far into the ocean bed, and he could already spot small bubble columns erupting from glowing spots of magma. Two small bridges connected the two large stone walls, and they looked rickety as they moved back and forth with the current. Slowing down, he let Iskall take the lead.

As they landed on the bridge, it shook a little. Grian glanced at the edges of it, already pondering practical ways to steady it. He’d mention it to Iskall later.

“Where do you want to go first?” Iskall asked. Grian paused; Iskall’s voice was echoey and distant, as if something was covering his ears.

“Uh, wherever you want.” he shrugged.

Iskall moved over to the lip of the cave off from the bridge, gripping the framed acacia edge with his hands and waiting for him to catch up. Grian kicked himself towards it, Iskall already speaking.

“-my storage room. I want to do some redstone around here but...you know how it is with water right?”

“Redstone’s already more trouble than its worth,” Grian sighed, “I don’t even want to think about doing it underwater.” 

“Me neither, but,” Iskall shook his head, shrugging. “Anyway, this is where I’ve been keeping all my stuff.” 

Grian swerved, looking around with a certain curiosity. In the centre stood a huddle of chests, heavily locked with ropes and anchored into the ground like the ones aboveground. Seagrass and algae sat at the bottom of the chests, the dull off-green colour all plants took in cold biomes like these. Speaking of cold, this room felt much more heated and warm than any other area Grian had been in. He chalked it up to the small cracks off magma scattered around the cavern. Spruce wood lined the edge close to the entrance but Iskall seemed to have given up on trying to give the room a proper floor. The walls were rough and course with holes and curved spikes, as if they had purposefully been molded into this strange texture. A wild bundle of ruby red coral had taken shelter in the corner, growing out in small lines like a sea splitting into rivers and then streams.

“This is amazing.”

“Thanks, dude.” Iskall said, grinning. “This is the only one that’s really finished so...the others aren’t really going to look that great compared to this.”

Grian had a strong feeling that wasn’t going to be true.

With a sharp turn, he was lead to another cavern, passing some sort of frozen object deep in the walls of the ravine. This room was slightly larger; or maybe it only looked that way, considering the fact that it was empty. Except for the large stone beam extending into the ceiling, that was.

“Let me show you something cool,” Iskall muttered, beckoning for Grian to look closer at the stone beam. It was cracked at the bottom, and he could see ice peek through. It was a blue like he’d never seen blue; it was so vibrant it nearly seemed to glow, even more so than the sheets he saw above. He blinked in awe, staring at it for a good while. 

He felt Iskall shake next to him, and he turned to face him. His eyes were shifty, and muttered, “Uh, can you wait here for a second? I want to check something.”

“Sure,” Grian said. He watched Iskall leave. And he was alone with the ocean again.

The water was gentle, like a delicate silk. It was cold, but not too so, and the current here was much less rough than at his base. Perhaps it was just the one near him that was strange. It was peaceful and quiet now, the only sound the hum of the ocean, with the scratchy but not too bothersome sound of ice sheets being dragged around. 

He closed his eyes.

* * *

“Welcome back.” A familiar voice murmured.

Grian’s eyes snapped open, and he fought the urge to yell as he realised what he was looking at.

A horrid black mass of eyes, all staring back at him, around ten feet tall. It held its hands out, palms a vivid purple; the only part of its body not covered in eyes. Midway through its body it split, looking like a severed piece of fabric. Another head (or as akin as you can get to a head with this sort of thing) sprouted from its shoulder, giving it the look of two dolls stitched together. It held itself in a grotesque manner, entire body tipping down and its feet clawed into the ground. The ground, in this case, being nothing but void.

“We haven’t talked in a while. We’re terribly sorry for that.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Grian said tartly.

“We have a few things we must discuss. We’re afraid you’re doing an awful job at Watching.” 

“I’m not meant to be ‘watching’ anything,” Grian snarled. “You put me into a whole other world and decided I could never return to the Evolutionists.”

“Watchers aren’t exclusive to one world.”

A pause.

“What do you think we did with your friend?” 

Grian blinked, breath stopping for a second. He then shook his head, glaring back at the eyes, “Taurtis left of his own accord. He told me he wanted to leave.”

“And we dictated his departure.”

“To where?” his voice shook, and he had to look away for a moment.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“You just said I became a Watcher. I think I deserve to know,” Grian stepped forwards, hands balled into fists. “So tell me. Where is Taurtis?”

“You have to be more careful with how you choose to act. Watchers shouldn’t be detected.”

“If they shouldn’t be detected, why did you leave all those clues in Evo?”

“You are very different, three.”

Silence took over the conversation for a second, yet Grian refused to look away.

“There are three important rules to being a Watcher. Don’t raise suspicion, don’t loose control, and don’t turn others against you.” 

“You’ve already messed up on all of those yourselves,” Grian retorted, “We were always suspicious of you. You’re not letting me go back and you’re not telling me where my friend is.”

“And you have entirely failed the first. You have two more strikes.”

“Until what?” Grian questioned.

The Watchers didn’t reply.

And suddenly, he felt himself being torn and ripped apart, and before he could even react, he was gone, his remains nothing but white smoke, which disappeared with him in seconds. 

The eyes of the Watchers closed in perfect sync.

* * *

 

When Grian awoke he was back at his base, it being nearly night. The sun crawled down into the sea, which let enormous waves jump up and fall back.

The water here was rough and warm and everything else he had thought before. Not like at Iskall’s place.

Speaking of Iskall, he groaned at the thought of having to explain everything. 

Grian fell back onto the bed he spawned in and sighed.


	5. Chapter 5

Freezing wind pushed Grian backwards and forced him into the night sky with a rocket. The faint feel of moistness laced the air, and he desperately hoped that if rain were to come, it’d be much later on. He pushed himself forwards again, the light of multiple rockets flashing behind him. He pulled the straps of his elytra, sinking downwards, still far from his main destination.

Tonight would not be an easy night.

A few days ago, Mumbo had come over for a simple chat. A simple chat about what to Grian seemed like the apocalypse.

On the precise timing of a full moon at the end of October, everyone would become as chaotic and hostile as possible because of the influence of the moon. It was something about ‘magic being heightened’, Grian couldn’t properly recall. One thing he remembered, however, was that Mumbo had described it as “unbelievable mayhem like you’ve never seen it” and had urged Grian to get in contact with hermits who weren’t affected as much that night. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to do much, as both Xisuma and Zedaph had stepped in to aid him a week before the night had come. X had planned out an entire safe route for him and Zedaph offered to meet up with him in the Commercial District and further lead him to the meeting place for those that could function well enough. That being, False’s base.

Now that he was flying in the cold, barely a third of the way there, Grian couldn’t help but regret building his base so far out.

Eventually he glimpsed the edge of the District, defined by a hideous mishmash of colourful, absurdly shaped buildings and sickeningly fluorescent lighting. He sunk down as quietly as he could, chest pounding. He pulled out his Dispatcher, a sleek device he had received a few days ago that allowed him to send messages to every hermit. Looking over his shoulder, out into the land behind him, he decided it seemed to be fine, at least for now.

<Grian> at shop district!

Lowering the device, he took another glance, this time outwards into the marketplace itself. His eyes rested on a dark figure past the birch road, and he instantly froze. The figure had noticed him too, turning its widened eyes to face him. Those eyes being a vibrant glowing purple with black slitted pupils, light glaring off them inhumanely. It blinked slowly and sunk back into the shadows as if it were in water. He stood where he was, too afraid to even breathe. Mere seconds later the figure reappeared, this time standing right in front of the main path where the light perfectly illuminated the area. In front of him stood Zedaph, brilliant light casting a shadow menacingly over his form. He raised his elven ears and waved, betraying the spooky aura surrounding him. 

“Sorry for the scare,” he said, grinning, showing sharp canines. He padded closer and inhaled in relief, “Didn’t realise how terrifying it’d look.”

Grian let out a sigh of relief, “Honestly thought I was about to die then. Would’ve made you coming here pretty useless.”

“Good thing it was just me, then.” Zed shrugged and turned to glance at the buildings behind him. “Anyway. Ready to go?”

“We’re walking through here by foot, right?”

“Yep. Blame X.”

Zed raised his head, angling his ears wildly. He looked slightly tired, and as he raised his hands, his movement was sluggish. “Well, we might as well get moving. There’s no reason to stall.”

“Yeah. The faster we leave, the better. I really don’t like this place at night.”

“I know, right? It’s all dark and spooky and _eugh_ ,” Zed said nonchalantly. He started to walk. “Thankfully, we won’t have to deal with mobs. Only good thing about tonight is everyone taking them out.  It’s gonna be clear for the next few days, even after the full moon. Seriously, you won’t believe it!”

Grian nodded offhandedly and looked behind his back, uneasy. The makeshift wooden road under his feet creaked at the slightest movement, releasing a shrill noise with every step. Despite the full moon being out, it was strangely dark, to a point where he relied entirely on Zed and the small lights here and there to see. Everything around him was silent as a corpse, the only sounds present being the creaking and the hum of end rods and the like. The instinct to just run past and get the journey over with was overwhelming, but Grian forced himself to keep his slow pace.

“So there isn’t anyone here?”

“Nah, shouldn’t be. Most people would be at their own bases or farms now. Or, you know, distracted by other things.” 

Grian rubbed the back of his neck, not all that reassured despite the confidence in Zedaph’s voice.

“So...how long have you been with the hermits?” he asked, desperate to hear something besides the strange noises.

Zed stopped in his tracks for a second, squinting to his left. He tsked, and replied, “Hm. Not that long! ‘Bout a year?”

He started to move again.

“Last year I wasn’t able to get to the X’s base in time and Tango got me. It was actually pretty hilarious,” he laughed, and Grian was once again reminded that the hermits didn’t really seem to care about death as much as they should. “He made fun of me for weeks after that! Though honestly I deserved it.”

Zed turned, walking backwards with a thoughtful expression. His violet eyes (which still possessed a strange sheen) grew wide, and he inquired, “Say, have you met Tango yet?” 

“Uh, kind of. We talked a bit when he joined my head game.” 

“Well, talk to him again if you ever need anything. Maybe not now, but...he tries to be helpful, he’s done some favours before...he’s a cool guy, pretty much.”

“Sure. Will do.”

They had finally reached the heart of the district, or at least a much more crowded part of it. Whether that was a good thing Grian couldn’t decide. The mushroom-shaped roof of Xisuma’s shop glinted in the moonlight, and as he walked past, he thought he saw an abnormal shape sitting atop it, but he brushed it off as a trick of light. He sped up slightly. On his far right stood the striped road to Tek to the Skies and his pickle shop, which hadn’t checked on in a while. He made a mental note to do so after this entire thing was over.

“So w-,” Grian was cut off as he bumped into Zed, who had frozen in place. Nothing sounded, and for a second Grian was about to ask what was up. Zed pointed his ears downwards, eyes widening as he adopted a petrified expression. Grian faced his left and glimpsed eyes the colour of redstone burning into his.

Zedaph gripped Grian’s wrist and started to run.

“What was that?” Grian yelled, surprised.

“Tango,” Zed answered, nearly swerving off the path into the grass. He saved himself and slipped downwards, last remnants of the wood floor screaming.

Strange scurrying sounded and he hurled himself forwards, falling into the grass as Tango jumped out at him. He rolled over, kicking Tango off of him. Heaving himself up, Zed hissed out, “GO!”

Grian froze, eyes widening, and he nodded, turning the other way.

In the distance stood iTrade, a magnificent quartz building that radiated golden light all around. His safest bet.

He sped up, gasping air in with desperation. 

A sudden scream sounded from his right, causing him to trip over. Grian groaned, gripping the dirt, dragging himself up and kicking himself back into a sprint. The air on his right suddenly got cold, and he skidded the other direction to avoid a rotting green hand grabbing him.

“Cleo,” he thought, releasing a cough. He changed directions, seeming to lose her.

Glancing forwards again, he ran back on the main path, the building not too far off. A familiar hiss, which he recognised as a creeper’s, sounded before him, warning him to move once more. Unfortunately, he was too slow. Claws gripped his shirt, and he tugged his arm, hearing fabric rip.

Sliding past, he heard the glasslike sound of diamond clang behind him, and put two and two together: Python.

Perfectly aware of the fact he could never beat him in a fight, especially this one, he ducked down and rolled past, causing Python to fall into the dirt. 

iTrade was now a few feet away. Nobody else tracking him, he took the opportunity and leaped, falling on his elbows at the stairs of iTrade. He coughed in a breath, exhausted. Something touched his leg, causing him to shoot upwards and freeze. 

Thankfully, it was just Zedaph.

Zed broke down the door, entirely disregarding Impulse’s pass system. Grian slid in, breathing quick and strained. Zed placed it back behind him and turned on the lights, which were weirdly dim (yet still welcome).

“They came out of nowhere!” he sputtered, turning to face Grian. “Seriously, I thought we’d be clear. There shouldn’t’ve been any hermits here at all. No clue why...” he trailed off, closing his eyes and regaining himself. 

Grian nodded, exhausted beyond relief and without the energy to respond. He pushed his hair back, taking in a deep breath.

Zed stared through the glass surrounding the door, settling himself on his knees. His tail swished back and forth, and he paused for a second, raising his head. After a second he chided, “Oh boy. It’s going to rain.”

“As if we needed something else to bother us,” Grian thought.

Mere seconds later, thunder sounded. 

“Yep.”

Grian retreated to the wall of chests, falling onto it for support. His breath had slowed down now as did his heartbeat. Too tired to even keep his eyes open, he depended on touch and hearing alone.

Grian wasn’t sure how long they’d be able to hide in iTrade, but regardless he was thankful for the resting place. He began to collect himself as much as he could and started to even out his sweater. He wiped off the mud and dirt from his boots on the floor, (that would be Impulse’s problem another day) though it didn’t help much. Arms aching, he started to stretch them out as much as he could. The ache remained, but eased. As he rubbed his elbow (which was strangely soft - he presumed it was a bruise or something) he touched torn fabric. He sighed, deciding to worry about that later.

“Are you okay?” Grian asked in a shaky voice, finally mustering up enough energy to talk. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Zed said, stomping towards him. The sound of his steps suddenly stopped and Grian heard a cut-off squeak. “Uh, are _you_ fine?”

Grian’s eyes split open. Zed’s face held a quizzical expression, and he followed his gaze, which rested on his left arm. 

His left arm, that was covered in eyes. 

He instantly recoiled, blinking rapidly. “Wh-,” Grian breathed, raising it up again to get a second look.

Unlike the perfect movement of the Watchers’ eyes, his seemed to blink a millisecond out of sync, creating a chilling effect reminiscent of falling dominoes. He flexed his hand, eyes on his wrist bulging out, pupils unmoving.

For whatever reason he couldn’t look away.

Zed glanced at them with a sour look on his face, silent. He looked back at Grian, who was still fixated on the eyes.

“So?” 

Grian remained quiet, barely hearing him. Silently, he whispered, “I don’t know.”

And suddenly, a fleeting sense of anxiety coursed through him. The second he realised, a cold, venomous voice retorted, “Strike two.”

Almost fittingly, the sky flashed white, thunder rumbling a second later.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The darkness had overtook everything. The sky had become pitch black, with dapples of foggy grey lining the glowing full moon. Wind hissed outside, and the storm persisted, though it had calmed down a bit.

“Why didn’t you tell the other hermits you had your own weird stuff going on?” Zed muttered, tapping his foot on the glass floor. “We could have prepared!”

“I didn’t know!” Grian said, raising his hands up defensively, which caused Zed to flinch. “I wasn’t expecting anything either!”

Zed sighed, peeking back at the entrance. His ear twitched, and Grian went on.

“I should’ve guessed something would be up. It’s the same reason I died at Iskall’s that one time. I’m sorry.”

Zed snorted, rolling his eyes, “You don’t have to apologise. This isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen tonight. Or any night, really.”

Grian remained silent for a second, resting his chin on his fist. Thunder sounded, and the room lightened again for just a moment before returning to its gloomy dimness. “You shouldn’t have come for me. I would’ve been just fine at my base.”

“Nonsense. You’d’ve been killed by like five different hermits if you stayed there!”

“Forgot to mention I’d build a cobblestone shack inside it. That’s far more protected than just sitting around there without a ceiling,” Grian shrugged.

A smile broke across Zed’s face, and in a jovial tone, he replied, “With a diorite roof and fence windows and all, right?”

“Of course.”

“Would you add dirt accents?”

“Yes, obviously. I only want the best for my house. Who do you take me for, a cretin?”

Zed laughed, but soon after silence took over again. They both wordlessly turned to the strip of glass by the door, now wet and foggy. Rain coated the entire thing, poking and tapping it relentlessly, an undying torrent. It was warm inside, but barely so, like when you placed your hand over a redstone torch. As far as he could see, outside was devoid of anyone. He seemed late to the conclusion, as Zed had already gotten up and turned towards the exit.

The pressure plate clicked under his feet, and the door opened, allowing freezing wind to flood in. Grian took in a deep breath and slid past, not even daring to move as he waited right outside the door. It was foggy, and it still rained a little, but it was manageable. After a moment Zed joined him, looking far more rejuvenated than earlier.

“We need to move fast,” he muttered, pulling out a shimmering diamond sword. “Just go in a straight line until we reach the shore.”

His head swivelled back and forth, and he nodded to himself, starting to move at a brisk pace.

Grian followed, more vigilant now that he had seen the affected hermits firsthand. He kept a careful watch on the path behind him, completely ignoring sound - Zed was already on that anyway, it seemed.

Finally back on the main path, Grian took the liberty to speed up. His own words echoed in his ears; the faster we leave, the better.

Sand trickled past his feet as he reached the area close to Concorp’s coral shop, and the smell of sea made him scrunch his nose. He took another look to his left, flinching as he glimpsed a circle of glowing red.

“Doc.” Zed mouthed, though Grian had realised that.

He started to run.

He slunk down, hearing a horrifying, shrill hiss sound behind him. Sprinting past, causing the spruce floor to scream, kicking sand behind him, he reached the coral wall of the shop and he yelled, “Through here!”

Stomping sounds overtook him and he caught sight of a purple glow - he slid back down, coughing out dust, breath heavy. He had lost track of Doc, though the sound of faulty metal echoed all around him and he could’ve sworn he saw red.

Mere seconds after getting to the top of the hill, he heard the sound of steaming metal before promptly being thrown backwards. He rose to his knees, ignoring his pain, and stood, wide-eyed, trying to find his attacker.

Instead of Doc, as Grian was expecting, stood Tango, red eyes alone outlining his silhouette from afar. He locked eyes with Grian; his mouth, with its misshapen teeth, frozen in a joyous snarl. And before he could even process anything else, Tango pushed himself into Grian and swung at him with sharp, gleaming red claws.

He wheezed in pain, a stinging sensation creeping down his left leg. Grian crawled to his original post, afraid to stand, crouched low and desperately trying to find Zedaph again.Suddenly something pulled his arm backwards, it making an ugly crackling noise as he fell back down the bottom of the sand hill.

Struggling to breathe, he tried to pull himself up to no avail. His vision now grew hazy - Tango seemed to make every other colour he saw melt into a muddled bronze.

Metal hissed, now sharper and louder, and his eyes snapped open as he caught sight of Zed bowling over Tango, impaling his sword into his shoulder and sweeping past him. He grasped Grian’s shoulder and swung him past the coral shop, kicking him down further into the district. Send flew everywhere, and still in a daze, Grian forced himself to keep going.

“H-” he choked out, pulling himself together and rising again, clutching his side as he limped behind Zed, who was a few feet away. Grian half-walked half-crawled, panic making him shake so bad he could barely do so.

“Look out!”

Grian barely scuttled backwards in time to avoid Cleo pouncing on him. She swerved back up with a spin, holding herself up with bloodstained hands, supporting cracked and chipped nails. She blankly stared, snagged teeth bared and eyes searing with madness. Grian froze, coughing, squinting at her. And out of nowhere, she was thrown backwards, with a woosh-y noise that hurt his ears. The sound of crackling bones sounded from behind and the classic zombie groan followed.

Despite being entirely unaware of what the hell just happened, other than that he might've broke Cleo's entire skeletal structure, Grian gripped the spruce floorboards and launched himself past, adopting a straddled walk. No time to worry about that. She's probably lost bones before anyway.

Shimmering cerulean overtook his vision, making everything so glowy and bright he had to squint. It made his chest tight, and he drew in quick shaky breaths, falling and having to crawl again. Something wet grabbed him by the neck with an iron grip and pulled him back for a second before sending him flying forwards. The blue haze in his vision shattered, and his breathing cleared. He regained his pace, stumbling next to Zed again, who had stopped walking.

“Convex got you?” was all Zed said before he suddenly spun around and walked downwards, completely changing course and not waiting for Grian to reply. He slowed down to a jog, shouting, “Scar’s terraforming shop. I’ll be behind you!”

Already hearing the sounds of someone else barrelling towards them, Grian nodded, taking the lead. He dug his boots into the grass, which seemed much more squelchy now, and boosted himself forwards, trying not to wince as he put pressure on his left leg. The small river that segregated part of the district glimmered in the moonlight, still and tranquil. At least, for now. The reflection of the vantablack sky, with its hidden stars and its fog-covered moon made him instinctively take out a rocket.

Grian fumbled with it in his hand, but Zed lunged in and grabbed it, hacking out, “They’ll hear us. I doubt you’d want Stress and Jevin and _all that_ after you.”

Spinning away with a final glance to meet his eyes, which seemed to have lost the small energy gained when they rested at iTrade, Grian stepped back. He sighed but murmured vague agreement. Zed stopped by the bank of the river to breathe for a second.

“Doing good? We’re nearly out of here.”

“If good means _on the way to death_ then yes, I’m doing excellent.”

Zed whined, whispering, “Please don’t die. I don’t want my efforts to be fruitless.”

They remained where they were for at least another minute, in pure silence outside of their synchronised heavy breathing. Briefly considering telling Zed about what happened with Cleo, though deciding it would probably just freak him out more, Grian swallowed in a deep breath. He shortly regained stability, and not wanting to waste another moment, Grian determined it was time to move again.

Confident in Zed being able to catch up, he started to shuffle onto the bridge, familiar yet unwelcoming creaking flooding back into his ears. He reached the end of the bridge, and paused for a second, shuddering as the wind screeched and the drizzle prodded at his already-soaked body. He felt like a literal sewer rat.

He stopped walking, already despising (and admiring) the area he was in. This particular edge of the shop held a deadland of gravel and dirt, the hard type that seemed like glass and occasionally crunched under your feet when you least expected it. Corpses of oaks, immobile in the darkness, cast the shadow of outstretched hands into the sky, obstructing the moon and stars. It was greys and browns upon greys and browns, dull yet clustered, an easy hiding place for terrors. Maybe Grian just hadn’t properly taken it in the first time he saw this place, or perhaps it had a new aura now, but it was horrifyingly impressive how Scar had created something like this.

He walked closer to the edge of the gravel shore, swarms of pebbles rolling behind him, his breathing slow and steady. Getting closer to the enormous tree in the centre of the shop, with its gnarled, gigantic roots spreading out and draping themselves over the dirt, a natural divider between sections, he took note of carefully managed sakura trees, covered in artificial snowfall, glimmering with light. It honestly made his eyes hurt; but in a way that emphasised the entire vibe of the area.

The dirt sounded behind him and he turned, blinking rapidly. Instead of seeing the purple glow he grew accustomed to, he matched gazes with a dull blue stare.

Grian stumbled backwards, nearly tripping, and before he knew it, he was on the ground, with a glimmering diamond sword at his throat, an unusually blank look meeting his. Armour creaking and echoing into the air, Wels stood still as a statue, his pupils needles, unnaturally a deep shade of maroon. Despite his rather indifferent disposition Wels _typically_ had a relaxed look. But then again, did any part of tonight fit into typicality? Now his gaze wasn't really...cold. It was just strange and blank. His skin looked grey under the moonlight, supporting his rooted stance, which became only more eerie with every second. Grian glanced past him, awkwardly bending over in a subtle(-ish) way, eyes drawn to the moon; which seemed to have a dark fog covering it, or perhaps, stormclouds. Regardless, a veil. A place to hide.

A deep guilt already setting in, he forced himself to stay fixated on Wels, and without warning, everything exploded. Grian was spat out into the sky and his elytra unfurled. He foraged his pockets for a rocket, sinking down, running out of the time advantage he gave himself, almost back at ground level.

What happened next was a daze. All he comprehended was hearing a rattling bowstring, its arrow being released, a violet-feathered arrow anchoring itself into a tree, only a blur, and Wels, now distracted, rising from the dirt to face its allocator. Grian, saving himself, bounced off a leafless branch past the snowy area, and blasted off with a rocket, though not before hearing a distant voice call out, “Nice!”

He steadied himself, now afloat, the island nothing but a speck under him. He could finally relax, if just for a bit.

Or.....honestly, not at all. He still felt beyond unsettled despite being _'safe'_ now.

The drizzle was strong here, moreso like a full rainstorm. Freezing wind pushed him backwards, and he fought back with no aid, too afraid to attract someone’s attention with yet another rocket, though if the thunder came back he wouldn’t be so reluctant.

He followed the gale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ay, sorry for not updating for so long. its literally been like 4 months and it simply proves im a procrastinating bastard and i am very ashamed 😔also the fact that i missed the possibility of uploading this on halloween. (whatever. halloween extends into ALL of november according to the laws) anyway, i've got a plethora of exams comin up and wanted to post something beforehand so,,, yeah. i originally planned for there to be more in this chapter, but ive decided to split that up into one extra chapter for this arc which should be shorter and also....not take forever to write. anyway. hope yall enjoyed this at least cbhshbvbhvjbhd


	7. Chapter 7

Grian had been flying for a good while now. The wind had only increased in pressure and despite being unable to stop himself from shaking, he calmed down a little, albeit in a ‘gotta watch out or I’ll freeze to death or get pummelled to the ground by a surprise tornado’ manner. Everything around him was void, not exactly helping him find his way to False’s base. It was time to dive, he decided.

He pulled in his elytra, holding his breath as the millisecond of airborne stagnancy passed, and he started falling. The greys cleared a little, spots of whites and silvers, little wisps of clouds and fog and seedlings of stars. Eventually the ground below arose, stained dark with night. Stalagmites of quartz peered through the fog from afar, topped with glassy fuchsia onion domes. Pale mauve light pulsed into the heavens - probably a beacon beam. Grian kicked himself up with a rocket, shooting off and leaving an equally pale grey trail as a signature of his presence.

Perhaps he had finally assessed his situation, or the rain was just that weirdly tranquil and thought-clearing, but he wasn’t panicked in the slightest; not even after leaving Zed behind, not after his encounter with Wels, or the one with Tango, or the entire night, really. He absentmindedly dragged a finger down his arm, flinching as he felt a soft, moist spot, unrelated to rain. Sighing, he remembered he still had to deal with the Watchers. But he wasn’t as afraid as he was before. Not after deflecting Cleo or fleeing from Wels.

The white, glowing silhouette of False’s base, looking cryptic tonight, held a certain aura of haunted maleficence. Grian himself was ecstatic about that fact, hoping it would scare off any affected hermits.

Scouring his pockets for another rocket, as a last launch, he only found himself disappointed to find he had none left.

Whatever. The castle wasn’t far off. It was an alright walking distance. Or crawling distance, rather, cause his entire body still felt like it was on fire.

Grian swerved down with a spin, wincing as he stood up. He gave himself a moment to recover, inhaling before starting to drag himself through the muddy ground. Usually, as far as he remembered, the Fantasy district was the most pleasant with the most incredible natural arrangement of plants - making it a handsome place to build in. But now all of it seemed wet and wilted, its colours masked by darkness. The grass made an unpleasant sound as he walked, and he couldn’t help but feel uneasy as he trekked on.

And suddenly, a sharp creaking noise. Grian froze, instinctively heaving out his sword and holding it out in front of him. Whatever it was, it creaked again, and paused, before making the sound of what he could only describe as the sound of a malfunctioning redstone machine. He swerved and nearly fell backwards.

Biffa stood there, motionless. His golden visor was solidly opaque and drenched in white light, heavily dripping with rain. The screen on his chest radiated with light, flashing rapidly and resting and back and forth. He held his sword, solid pink glass daubed with odd splotches of red. It, too, held the solid white outline of moonlight.

Despite how his last fight with Biffa went, Grian could sense this was different. Much more different. For multiple reasons.

For one, it was some crazy Halloween pseudo-full-moon-night-eclipse. And second, this time he was prepared.

Third, he wasn’t afraid.

Grian surveyed the robot’s corpselike body, still in its place, now making some odd electric growling noise. Its hand was slowly cranking upwards, grip far too tight and automatic to be humane. It was off, even regarding Biffa’s regular movements. He abstained for a little longer before he struck - Grian skidded backwards, surprised by the force. He fell on his elbows, and tossed his sword to his other hand, drawing it over himself as a shield. The sound of static erupted, almost like a hiss.

Then it was quiet again. The two stood frozen in time, one aware and one barely so. Neither made a move. Moonlight bounced off Biffa’s body, sharp and gleaming, meeting once more with his visor, still obliterating his face. Grian couldn’t breathe; he sat there for what seemed like hours.

At last Biffa moved again, but Grian deflected his strike with one of his own. He slowly rose to his knees, and Biffa lashed again. Then he slid backwards, pushing him out of the way and properly standing again.

Grian kept a defensive stance, blocking a blow last second, stepping forwards and knocking Biffa back with a defiant yell. Biffa quickly sprang back to his feet, instantly returning to the methodic pattern of the fight. Grian noticed a beat to this duel, the increasingly cascading rain providing melody. He looked behind for a second to make sure his path was clear, and started to deflect slashes, walk backwards, evade more attacks, reverse, so on.

Biffa didn’t seem to tire.

Grian knew what he could do.

He suddenly stopped moving and kept a fixated gaze on Biffa. They returned to that numbed, immobile state, electric clicks echoing threateningly. Everything was still.

Then Grian set off an explosion once more. This time, a deflective one. Then he ran.

He ran, not even glancing back as he dodged stray roots and rocks. He ran until he reached the base. About to enter the perimeter of the ghostly structure, a voice yelled “Who goes there?”  
  
Grian took a shaky breath. He then joked, “Dunno. Poultry man.”

He now located the blank silhouette the question had come from, up high and visible through the open windows, contrasting against the brightness of the building. It ducked down, presumably coming to meet him. Grian uneasily checked behind one last time, just to make sure Biffa hadn’t somehow followed him here.

False emerged from the entrance, smiling as she bounded to Grian.

“Phew, good to see you. Zed thought you’d be here about an hour earlier and we were starting to worry.”  
  
Grian weakly smiled. “Sorry for the wait. Getting here was…a journey.”  
  
“It always is,” she sighed, hand on forehead. “Speaking of Zed, uhhh…where is he?”  
  
He glanced away awkwardly, mumbling, “Uh, he stayed behind. I thought he’d be with me but…he was fighting Wels before I left.”  
  
False pulled out her Dispatcher, checking the alerts. “Hmm. I don’t see any death messages. Other than Tango, somehow.”

She noted Grian’s concerned expression and shrugged, “Zed might’ve just gone back to his base. We’d know if he was in trouble.”

He huffed, hoping that was the case.

“Anyway, let’s not waste time outside. Probably not too convenient in case anyone’s around.”

Everyone had turned to look at him as soon as he entered, the room strangely quiet. Suddenly self-conscious, he muttered a quick, “Hey.”

An old man with grayed hair sat closest to the doorframe, a plain diamond sword at his side. Grian placed him as TFC, who caught his gaze and greeted him with a low ‘hi’. The silence slowly broke and everyone started to murmur amongst themselves again.

Xisuma sat by TFC, nodding at Grian before closing his eyes again. The edge of his form split off from the rest, in dark black dots resembling void, slowly floating away, those little particles drifting into the air. Strangely, it was comforting to know he wasn’t the only one here with a weird moon thing going on.

He was ready to settle next to everyone else and join in on the chat, but False kept on walking and indicated he should follow her. They stopped in the corridor between the previous room and a closed off one with a large iron door.

False looked over her shoulder, quickly glancing back at Grian. “Joe said he wanted to speak to you. Uh, he wanted to take a walk through my base and discuss some stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“He refuses to tell me, uh, exactly what,” she said a little nervously.

“I mean, If I get to invade your base and appreciate your building skills, sure thing,” Grian grinned.

“Aye,” False’s expression melted into one of amusement. She stepped away with a hand wave, a gesture of goodbye.

Grian stepped in, instantly met with a thoughtful stare hidden behind sqaure-ish glasses. Joe Hills sat at an elegantly carved table, seated in a cushioned spinny-chair. Off-whites and amethyst shades coated the room - forming a calming palette.

“False told me you wanted to discuss some stuff?” he testified, standing by the doorway.

“Oh, Grian! Come in!” Joe said, waving.

Grian exhaled, the tension he held eroding.

“So,” Joe asked, swivelling in his chair a little. “You’ve been well?”

“Specifically today?”

“More generally, I was thinking.

“Yep, I guess.”

“Any problems with any hermits? I doubt it but…,” Joe shrugged. “Courtesy.”

“Well…They’ve been generous, especially with the kind donations of free death.” Grian quipped.

Joe scoffed and said, “Moons, _am I right_? Though in other circumstances, I’m guessing okay?”

“Yeah, no troubles here,” Grian said.

Joe peered at him thoughtfully for a second, before going, “Aight _,_ ” under his breath and rising from his seat.

“We’d better get moving. I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

* * *

The storm had returned, as colossal as ever. Because of the lack of walls and general windowage it felt far less protected than when Grian was in iTrade, but in a sense, it was far more exciting. He could hear the rain as it clasped onto the walls and slobbered down, as it swished and swooshed, wind passing through open windowsills and messing with his hair a tad. While talking a bit about general hermit ordeals, they passed a good number of rooms and corridors, all built with a careful hand and attention to miniscule detail. The conversations were, in their entirety, rather pointless and trivial, but it was nice to talk without having to worry about surprise werewolf attacks or whatever.

Needless to say, Grian was relaxed; properly this time, a first for the entire night.

“So. I think it’s time to mention my warning.”

Joe peered down to note Grian’s worried expression, and quickly denied ill intent, “Don’t worry. It’s more something you should keep in mind than an issue I have. It’s…not about your freaky eye thing or whatever. Just…let me put this in a simple way.”

He thought for a second. And then he drew in a breath.

“Everyone here is an island,” he let the thought linger for a second. Grian was silent, awaiting the continuation. “We all belong to a sea. Unless, of course, we’re all just floating in an endless abyss in space…geez, this analogy’s already falling apart.”

He shook his head.

“For the sake, of…keeping things understandable, here, we’re hosted by a body of water. We’re all floating there, a fair distance away from each other. Some of us are closer together, even connected by land. Some of us have spikes between our lands or _maybe_ the ground’s slightly deeper here than in other areas, which may be inhospitable to boats or anyone swimming by. Sometimes certain places are prone to storms or there are whirlpools around. But despite our distance we’re in the same place, in the same area. We all construct a landform, something that can’t be broken. We’re here to welcome newcomers and provide a foundation for what they build, or destruct, whatever, etcetera. And Grian, let me tell you…”

Joe intentionally paused for a good while.

“ _You’ve built many bridges._ ”

Joe started to move again. His feet dragged against the quartz floor with haggard strides, which carried some odd form of elegance. Grian awkwardly followed behind, unsure what to say.

“But bridges can be broken,” Joe suddenly said, halting. “They’ve been before. And the islands have...well, they haven’t sunk. They really can’t, can they? The water rose, let’s say. Sorta…trapped the lands and hid them from sight. Maybe they ain’t marked on maps anymore and the only leads of their existence I’ve got are old diagrams, books and word of mouth. I try to follow the area to them, exactly where they are. And when I look, and I’m in the literal place, all I see is myself, reflected in the shore, trying to find old places that’d probably be better off alone. I’ll be honest, I’ve not had good ideas. I’ve been trying to build bridges underwater. Which, as you can probably tell, ain’t really practical or beneficial, to me, or to anyone else.”

Thunder crashed, as if a switch. The man who spoke in riddles paused for a second.

“And it’s nonsense, I know. Everyone’s that’s left us, whether intentionally, or because they got trapped somewhere, or just because we gave up on them. I should leave them be, right?”

Thunder crashed again.

“Yeah. Islands can’t really rise up again, they can’t grow. All I can do is just hope no water rises over our current islands.”

Grian glanced over to Joe again. He asked, “When I first arrived, you refused to tell me about them. Then Biffa mentioned…there being around nine or something. Do you know what that was about and who those people were? Have there been other lost ones?”

Joe, exasperated, sighed, “No, I came way after. I know nothing of those fellows but what’s been said to me. And yeah, I’ve seen some people leave. Some moved onto other things or places. Some said they were going away for a while and returning later. Some just strayed off and eventually left. Some others just disappeared, I guess. Most of them lost ones vanished when we moved through portals or…restarted worlds.”

Back to pure silence.

Something Joe seemed to detest, because he took control again.

“So, Grian. As you are the keeper of the bridges, the guard of the viaducts, I don’t want any bridges broken. They might be the last thing keeping islands afloat, or at least leaving evidence of them if the water was to rise.”

Rather suddenly many things made sense to Grian.

Specifically, the way he had first died.

* * *

After some time the two of them returned to the main room, where most others had been chatting and exchanging pleasantries. As they joined in and conversed with the others, an aura of affability claimed the room, and they all sat there chattering and rejoicing until the sun came up at dawn. Daybreak marked triumph, and they all celebrated the end of the night, which, according to everyone else, had been probably the safest magic-moon-Halloween-thing night yet. And it probably was. False recounted a story around 2 years ago about the influenced hermits somehow tracking her hiding place and her having to fend them all off, which was surprisingly easily…considering eventually all of them had fought each other, leaving her rather safe. She still ended up chasing a good chunk of them off though, cause apparently ‘ _waiting inside for an entire night by yourself in the dark (because everyone else had been caught) and not getting involved with cool threats outside was boring to do_ ’.

Banter rang far into morning and Joe brought potions of healing out, apparently a customary drink for those who survived the night. They all raised their bottles in a toast, a clinging sound of glass echoing through the halls.

Everyone started to splinter off, either going straight out or wandering around False’s base for the hell of it. Grian himself had taken the second option, slowly sipping on the rest of his potion for energy. The taste was tangy but sweet, somewhat like berries. It was a pretty pleasant thing to taste.

The _most_ pleasant thing, thoughaps, was that despite knowing he broke another stupid Watcher rule, they hadn’t contacted him outside of the warning.

A question he asked himself that first arrived last night lingered with him.

**Were the Watchers afraid of him now?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly wanna blanket-apologise for any mistakes or inconsistencies found in this chapter! i tried to finish it fairly fast so i could be able to take my time with the last chapter cause. ive got a lot planned for that one in specific ;-)
> 
> anyway im just gonna go ahead and thank everyone for comments, kudos and bookmarks! i honestly never thought anyone would read this silly fic at all and its a total shock dchhhsdjdhjvvdhj thanks nyall


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